Discoveries from the Past
by Tahyldras
Summary: Normally, Merlin doesn't pay much attention to archaeological discoveries, having seen much of the past millennium and a half first hand. However, news of a particular discovery in south Wales captures his attention.


**Discoveries from the Past**

Normally, Merlin doesn't pay much attention to archaeological discoveries, having seen much of the past millennium and a half first hand. However, news of a particular discovery in south Wales captures his attention.

After waiting patiently for the find to be studied properly, and for it to be displayed in a local museum, Merlin goes and looks upon the remains of a great warrior he had not seen for nearly fifteen hundred years.

The bones showed signs of a harsh life that, with several breaks and nicks from injuries that Merlin had not known about, nor would have likely cared much about at the time.

Merlin's eyes are drawn, however, to the one injury that he definitely knew about. He stares at the damaged bone where the dragon-forged blade dealt an unexpected mortal blow, cutting through the now-decayed chainmail, piercing easily the skin and several ribs, blood vessels and muscles alike.

The skull showed no sign of the man that once looked out of the now-empty eye sockets, nor did it offer any clue to the dark thoughts once held within.

Merlin reads the small plaque, describing how unusual and important this young warrior likely was, with his once-black armour and sword damaged in an unknown battle. It goes on to explain how the archaeologists were baffled by the sword, at how it is still as sharp today as the day it was forged whilst its hilt had rotted away to nothing.

"What is made cannot be unmade." Merlin whispers to himself, quoting a long lost friend. He continues reading about how the discoverers speculated about an as-yet unknown forging technique that has since been lost to the ages. Well, they got that part right, thinks Merlin. But they'd never realise just how it was made; in the breath of a dragon, Aithusa.

Remembering the small boy he, and Morgana, once helped save from Uther's wrath, Merlin mourns the fact that only he knew the true name of the man who's remains that the rest of the museum's visitors were gawping at.

"Do you want to know what I think?" A voice cuts through Merlin's reverie and brings his wandering mind crashing through more than a thousand years to the present day. Turning, he spots a red-heading young woman, in her mid-twenties, looking expectantly at Merlin. With a start he realises that she was addressing him, and asks her to repeat what she said. Smiling, she obliges.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to know what I thought about our bony friend here. You were staring at him pretty intensely." The woman's irreverent way of referring to Mordred's skeleton helps drive home Merlin's previous thought.

"Oh, um… sure!" Merlin replied, dismissing the depressive thoughts and concentrating on the curious young lady.

"Great!" she beamed. "I don't know how familiar you are to the local folklore of the area where he was found, but according to some of the tales a great warrior who slew a king was buried in the hills, right where this fellow was discovered."

To say Merlin was surprised would be an understatement. Centuries of practise allowed the old warlock complete control of which emotion he displayed on his face, and he didn't let a single shred of surprise show. Instead he chose to allow his interest to shine through. Whilst he was well aware of the power of folklore in preserving the history of an area, he didn't know that anyone knew of Mordred's grave.

"And you think this warrior is him? And what of the king he supposedly killed?"

Locks of her deep red hair dance as she shakes her head in answer to his second question.

"No one really knows for certain to whom the tales refer to, some say it was just a local warlord playing at king, whilst other say it was the great King Arthur himself, so who's to say who's right?" Looking at the deceptively youthful warlock, one wouldn't be able to discern the frission of pain he felt at the mention of his best friend's murder. "Despite the ambiguities, there are certain details that remind me of a book I once read."

Merlin, who had started to let himself relax once she shook her head, tensed up, hoping that she wasn't about to mention the book he was thinking of.

"What book would that be?"

"It was a very rare version of Arthurian legend. One of the oldest, actually. Supposedly written by Merlin himself.

"I know of it." Merlin responds, keeping his voice level. He remembered the book well; he had written it after all. He had written it in response to the vile and ludicrous tales spouted by Geoffrey of Monmouth in the 12th Century. Tales of incest and adultery that offend the very memory of Merlin's friends.

"Well, the 'magic' sword that cannot be truly destroyed, with a piece missing, the black armour, his age, the placement of the killing blow. All that point to this being Mordred, King Arthur's killer. All that, and the fact that he was buried nearly one and half thousand years ago."

While one half wanted to congratulate the young lady on her spot on conclusion, the other half feared the inevitable questions that would arise if he would confirm to the obviously fiercely intelligent woman would have if he confirmed her conclusion. So he, once again, chose the easy way out, just as he had with Morgana; Feign ignorance.

"It's a shame that we'll never know for certain." He said, turning back to the glass-encased remains of the former druid boy.

Perturbed by Merlin's apparent and sudden dismissal, the previously confident woman looks to her feet, uncertainty edging in on her posture.

Seeing her sudden nervousness in her reflection in the glass, Merlin feels a pang of guilt. He acknowledges her accurate conclusion by turning back to face her and speaking.

"But you are right, the details do fit." Curiously, and eager to steer the conversation away from the bones behind him, he asks "How did you learn so much about Arthurian legend, then?"

"Let's just day that I inherited my parents' enthusiasm for it. They enjoyed the tales so much, they named me Morrigan, after the Morgan le Fae from 'The Truth of Camelot', the version written by Merlin." Morrigan confesses, clearly faintly embarrassed by her parents' eccentric choice of name.

There seemed to be very little that the woman before him could say that wouldn't surprise the ancient warlock, evidently. Knowing what was expected of him next, he made a snap decision.

"Well, my mother named me Merlin, so you can guess what she was thinking!" He laughed, all the while thinking that you can guess, but you're unlikely to get it right.

Morrigan gave a small laugh, the sound chiming like a series of bells in Merlin's ears.

"What a coincidence, huh? Two strangers, both named for figures in Arthurian legend, meeting next to what is quite possibly the remains of whom Mordred was based." She pauses a moment, considering whether or not to say the somewhat flirtatious joke that came to her mind. "Or maybe it was destiny!" Decision made.

Merlin simply laughs.

"Destiny and the names 'Merlin' and 'Morgana' do not tend to mix well, mythically speaking. But I do know of a nice tea shop nearby, if you'd like to get a drink?"

Morrigan nods, beaming, and hooks her arm through Merlin's proffered elbow.


End file.
